


Catharsis

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Freakytits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-07 10:45:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16406969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: You really do not want to be on the other end of things when Joan Ferguson says, "leave it with me."This work is dedicated with love and hope and strength to any and all survivors of bullshit at the hands of men, particularly in light of current political obscenity. I hear you. I believe you. I love you. I stand with you.





	1. Chapter 1

Vera watched Joan pull her thick, dark mane back and secure it in an elastic at the nape of her neck. Vera watched Joan’s strong, supple hands stroke down the glossy shaft of hair in a symmetrical motion. Then Vera watched Joan place those same hands on the minty-green material of the sweat pants covering her hips.

 _Child-bearing hips_ , Rita would have sneered. The echo of her dead mother’s voice, made Vera’s lip curl in dismay, even now.

“You know I can feel your eyes on my back, Vera,” Joan murmured. “Your step may be light, but your gaze is leaden. Why might that be, do you suppose?” She turned slowly in a succession of movements. First her head on her neck. Then her shoulders. Then her waist, followed by her hips (which Vera found more lush than _child-bearing_ , fuck you very much, Rita Bennett), and finally her knees and feet. The subtle choreography of Joan Ferguson was like the artful maneuvers of a jungle creature’s shadow. “What is it you want today, Little Bennett?”

“First of all, I’d like for you to show some respect and remember to whom you’re addressing. I’m Governor now, and have been quite successfully for some time, despite your predictions to the contrary. Your insulting and petty names will get you nowhere except the slot. Is that understood, Ferguson?”

“Oh,” Joan tilted her head back and clasped her hands over her solar plexus. She clucked her tongue and smiled. “My, my, my. Isn’t it amazing what a well-fitting pair of lady pants can accomplish?”

“Careful, Joan,” Vera hissed. “As I recall, you did not like the- how did you put it- ‘lack of stimulation’ in isolation?” Vera’s lips twitched and her nostrils flared, but Joan’s face was impassive.

She stepped closer to Vera and looked down on her. Vera swallowed hard and hated the manner in which she practically had to crane her neck to look up at the woman in green. “The shiny little crown suits you,” she said and put her fingers on the epaulet on Vera’s shoulder. She fondled it and then used both of her hands to straighten Vera’s tie. “One must maintain appearances.”

“Oh, fuck you, Joan!” Vera exhaled and tried to turn away before her former mentor could see the trembling in her lips. They didn’t have much time. Their visits had become more seldom and shorter, and would certainly become even more so. Vera found herself mightily aggrieved to be wasting their time with stupid games and fucking banter. She was about to say so when Joan spoke.

“Hmm,” Joan cocked her head. “I’d have thought with your new title you’d be more conscious of your choice of language. I guess I couldn’t have taught you everything. We had such limited time, and you weren’t the fastest study now, were you. Ah, well.”

“Do you ever get tired of being such a self righteous cunt?” Vera practically spat at her.

“Well, no, Vera. No I do not. And thank you. I relish the compliment.” She puckered her lips in a satisfied grin that made her cheeks puff and her eyes crinkle. With that charmingly iconic face, she might have been about to serve Vera a vodka tonic. For a moment, it made no sense whatsoever to Vera that they were here, in a deserted hallway in the basement of the prison because there was no CCTV, as opposed to the warmth of Joan’s polished mahogany parlor.

“Yes, I suppose you would,” Vera said once she gathered her wits, but in her mind, she could still hear the fizz of the tonic as Joan squeezed the juice of a lime into the glass, then the delicate, little plop of the citrus body into the liquid and ice. She could still see the glistening moisture on Joan’s fingers as she wiped them on a fresh, clean towel prior to handing the cocktail over to Vera. She could taste the melange of alcohol and quinine and feel her throat curl around it as she swallowed.

And she could remember how she would drink it as quickly as possible so she could watch Joan make her another, so she could get drunk enough to excuse the weakness in her knees, the giggle as she slumped against the larger woman and needed to be led to the sofa. It wasn’t her fault she wanted to be kissed and caressed; vodka made her that way. It was the alcohol that allowed her fingers to unbutton Joan’s blouse and nuzzle her face in between her breasts. It was the alcohol that begged for Joan’s fingers up her skirt, down her panties, and deep inside her. She could feel the heat of Joan’s flesh as she pressed her cheek against her and rode her fingers in her memory. Even now, standing in the dim hallway, she could taste the bitterness of lime, and it made her so wet she was scared Joan would smell her through her pants.

It had been a mistake coming to see Joan. In a moment, she would start to cry. She had to get out of there and fast. She knitted her fingers together and plucked at her cuticles.

“Planning your escape?” Joan bent in and whispered in Vera’s ear. Her breath smelled of milky tea, sweet and warm. Vera closed her eyes and suppressed the moan in her throat as the waft caressed her neck and rustled the little hairs beneath her bun. “Isn’t that really what I’m supposed to be doing? Here? And now? Hmmm?”

“You always did enjoy a good cat and mouse, Joan. But it would seem you’re all out of traps.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” She licked her lips and pressed them together in another mysterious smile. She stepped close enough to Vera for Vera to absorb the heat from all that flesh beneath the green track suit. She bent down to Vera’s ear and grazed it with her mouth, and whispered, “I’d rather be the cat who luxuriates in the cream anyway. Care to lend a hand?”

Vera shook her head almost violently and stepped backwards. “That is enough!”

“Well, someone is a sour little cherry today,” Joan said, nonplussed.

“I am not. I am your Governor!” Her own voice sounded petulant, ridiculous, like a cartoon version of herself.

Joan crossed her arms. “Are you going to tell me what’s got you in such a dither, Governor Bennett?”

“No. Nothing. It’s. . . it’s nothing.” Vera turned away. Joan approached her from behind and put a hand on Vera’s waist.

“You may be wearing my crown, but don’t take me for a fool.” She exerted a gentle pressure on Vera’s hip and pushed her until she turned. She kept her hand there and used her other hand to tilt Vera’s chin up, ostensibly forcing Vera to look at her. She observed the mist over Vera’s eyes and the delicate, violet-tinged skin under them that indicated she was wanting for her sleep. “Now then. Tell.” Her fingers snaked around Vera’s neck and her thumb rubbed up and down over the bumps of cartilage on the front of her throat. She felt Vera swallow. It made her eyes roll back ever so slightly. It made her smile.

“It’s. . . well, it’s Jake,” Vera muttered. She didn’t even bother to shake herself away from Joan’s embrace, rather she stepped in closer.

“And what has our sweaty, flushed, pungent snake done this time?” Joan asked.

“He’s been talking to Derek Channing. Colluding.” Vera said. She inhaled and bit her lip, as though uncertain as if she should continue. She looked up at Joan, who nodded for her to continue. “The two of them are plotting. I believe they are trying to bring drugs into our prison.”

Every muscle in Joan’s body tensed. Her jaw jutted out and she sucked it back and bit her tongue. “Men will always conspire to do despicable deeds to harm women. Our women, Vera.”

“Yes, well, with Channing involved, I’m not certain what to do.”

Joan turned from Vera. She tapped against her forehead with her fingers and muttered under her breath, “Think, think. We shall have a think on this.”

“There’s something else,” Vera offered meekly. Joan spun around.

“Oh?”

“Jake has threatened to frame me for the drugs if I continue to visit with you. I don’t see any other way through this right now, Joan, than to stop our visits for the time being at least.”

Joan stepped back up to Vera. “That is not acceptable to me.”

“Well, I don’t see any other way. One of us has to be at the helm of this ship of fools, and you are a bit indisposed at the moment, I’d say.”

Joan took a breath, turned Vera around, then cradled her shoulders into the cavern of her chest. She folded her arms over Vera in a manner that could have been either comforting or menacing. Or both. She spoke low and into Vera’s ear. “When they were testing the atom bomb, they had soldiers bear witness. They stood them up on ships and when it was time, they told them all to cover their eyes with their hands. But it didn’t matter. The force of scientific hate and destruction was so powerful, that even with their eyes closed, and covered, the soldiers could still see everything. Their flesh and bones were rendered clear by the force of the bomb. To this day, they will tell you that they could see every bone in their body, every detail fo the detonation, every moment of the terror. What a marvelous moment of clarity, I would imagine, Vera. What an absolute miracle of clearness of mind. A perfection of catharsis.”

“What are you going to do?” Vera asked.

“Leave it with me, Vera,” Joan said. She embraced her diminutive woman and pressed her lips against the back of her head in the spot above her bun. “Leave it with me.”


	2. Chapter 2

It didn’t take long to plan. It couldn’t take long to plan. They did not have much time.

Her mind was like a desert canyon. To the naked eye, all one might see would be scorched earth suffering under sun. And all one might hear would be the haunted howl of wind through barren caverns. But were one to look a little closer, they would see plants taking root in shady spots, plants that looked delicate but were actually hearty and tenacious enough to not only survive the heat and lack of water, but to thrive. Were one to tilt their head at just the right angle, they would perhaps hear the scampering and scratching of mice and lizards in between the rocks, along with subtle clicks of the spider knitting its silvery, silken web.

Under normal circumstances, Joan would have relished lying back against her pillow, closing her eyes and watching as the spider strung together layer after layer of shimmering skein. She would have allowed the soft glimmer to all but hypnotize her, and in that haze, she would have allowed the answers to filter into her mind, soft as wings of insects stuck to web. She would have lounged in shadow beside the crafty weaver and let her problems solve themselves with an effortless, arachnid grace.

These were no such times. No, no, no. She threw herself into the middle of the canyon of her mind and exposed herself to the full force of the sun. She grit her teeth and ground her fists against her hips. She felt sweat trickle down the small of her back, a feral sensation that served to enrage her.

It was a primitive plan. It lacked an elegant nuance she typically employed. Why, it was so hasty she might as well be clubbing Stewart over the head and dragging him off to a cave to feed to a pack of dogs. Ugly business, that. Joan tutted over this as the elixir of rage flooded her. On her bed, she’d laid out a tea towel on top of which she’d arranged the items she would bring with her- a needle, a syringe filled with a hot shot of dope, a packet of dental floss, a shiv on the end of a toothbrush (just in case, one never knew. . .), and a few zip ties.

Vera’s face had been set and hard when she’d handed the zip ties off to Joan earlier that day. “Now, now, Vera. There’s no need to be anxious,” she’d sighed and allowed her thumb the luxury of stroking Vera’s forefinger as she took her contraband.

“I’m not,” Vera insisted.

“Oh, but you are. You have a tell. You’ve been biting at your lips. They are all chapped, and the bottom one is. . . puffy.” Joan raised an eyebrow and bent at the waist to bring her face closer to that of her former deputy. “Try some coconut oil.”

“Try minding your own business and not screwing this up,” Vera huffed.

Joan slipped the zip ties into her pocket, reached out and put her hand around Vera’s neck. She stepped up against Vera and continued walking into her, until Vera’s back was pressed up against the wall behind her. The two women stared at one another. In the heated canyon of Joan’s mind, there was a potential for days of walking and unslakable thirst. How tempting it was to dip her dry tongue into the luscious valley Vera provided, here, and now. She smiled as Vera’s lips twitched and her pupils dilated. She increased the pressure of her hand ever so slightly, so her thumb could feel Vera’s pulse in her neck. It had increased, but only slightly. Joan read the signs of Vera’s arousal. Joan’s nostrils flared. She lowered her head and stuck out her tongue to lick Vera’s lower lip, which quivered in response.

“The promise of violence fills us both with keen urges, does it not, Little Bennett?” Her tongue clicked the “t’s” in Vera’s ear and made Vera shudder. Or shiver. Or both. “Even now, I know your nipples are hard enough to cut diamonds just imagining what I’m going to do to Officer Stewart. I know you, Vera. I could make you come for me with just a few artful flicks of my fingers, yes?” She removed her hand from Vera’s neck and fluttered her fingers over Vera’s breasts, covered as they were by her woolen suit jacket. Vera bit her lower lip and moaned. Vera arched her back and closed her eyes. Joan hovered above her face, lips above lips, about to kiss. “Ahh, but let’s save our celebrations for after.”

“Joan, please,” Vera whimpered. At this, Joan did place her hands on Vera’s pathetic, little waist and squeezed it, as Vera tried to straddle one of Joan’s thighs. “I’ve a meeting with Channing later and if you touch me now, just a little. . .” she put her arms around Joan’s neck. “I feel like it would give me some of your power. Your strength. Please, Joan. Please?” Vera’s fingers worked up into the back of Joan’s hair, attempting to drag her face down toward her own. Joan resisted, and bucked her hips hard into Vera, bumping her ass roughly into the wall. “Ouch!” Vera cried and let go of Joan’s neck so she could rub the boney spot on her hip that had bumped into the wall.

“I said we will wait,” Joan murmured. She stepped away from Vera and straightened her hair. “Good luck with Derek. Tell him hi for me, will you?”

Vera scowled. “I think you know taunting him would be a bad idea.”

“And I think you know that defying me would be a bad idea,” Joan grabbed Vera’s wrist and twisted it.

Vera tried to wrench her arm away but Joan steadily increased the pressure of her grip. “You’re going to bruise me,” Vera whispered angrily.

“Enjoy it,” Joan smiled and let go. Vera tugged down on her jacket sleeves so they covered her wrists more completely, inhaled and walked away with her swelling wrist cradled in her other hand. Joan had watched her little feet in their kitten heels scurry down the hall until she disappeared. Even now, as she folded her tea towel of torture, it made her smile and click her tongue. Such a small, sour stone fruit that Vera. Still, there was some strange delight to savoring and sucking all the warm pulp off of the pit.

Joan tucked the towel discreetly in the waistband of her pants, and covered it with her sweatshirt. She sat down on her bed and put her hands on her knees with a contented sigh. It wouldn’t be long now.

The boiler room was warm and steamy and intermittently noisy. It was also completely without cameras. It was a good place for clandestine meetings, which was what Officer Stewart believed this to be.

“Did you bring what I requested, Jake?” Joan asked as they arrived at their humid destination.

“Yeah,” Jake answered and pulled the pair of black, leather gloves out of his pocket. He looked at them for a moment before he handed the to Joan. She took them from him, unfolded them, turned them over and admired the needlework. “They weren’t the cheap ones. Dunno exactly what the difference is to you in here, but I’ll expect to be compensated.”

“Ohhhh, Jakey. You will be compensated. Rest assured. You will be compensated.” Joan brought the gloves to her face and inhaled the fragrance of the leather. It had been months since she’d smelled the familiar, animal aroma of her favorite brand. She stroked her cheek and felt the supple, buttery softness. “Mmmmh,” she moaned, making no pretense whatsoever of the pleasure she derived from this sensual ritual.

“What the fuck? Is this some sort of weird fetish for you? No wonder they called you the Freak,” Jake sneered. Without warning, Joan whipped around and cracked the gloves across his face with an easy but harsh snap of her wrist. He instinctively brought his hand up to his face and whimpered like a child. His lips were open and wet with his weakness. Joan grabbed his wrist, wrenched it behind his back and in an instant had him zip tied to a pipe. “Ouch! You bitch!” He yelped.

“Down boy,” Joan said in a calm, low voice. “You’re the little bitch here, I’m afraid.” She took a moment to put the gloves on her hands and then took another moment to hold them up and admire them. Then, she put her hand on the top of Jake’s head and started to push him down to the floor. “I said down, little bitch. That’s it. Slide down that pole for me like a certified stripper, and you might just get a tip from me. But not monetary, Jakey. No. Our days of exchanging money are long past. You see, a little bird has told me you are using my money for things of which I do not approve. Things that harm women. Things like drugs and dealings with corrupt, misogynists like Derek Channing.”

“Now, Joan,” Jake stuttered. “I don’t know what you’ve heard-“

“Shut that stupid little mouth,” Joan cut him off. She took the walkie talkie out of his utility belt, turned the dial all the way down, and shoved it across the floor. “And if you address me, it is as Governor.”

“What the hell? You’re insane!”

“And you’re tiring,” Joan sighed and took the towel out of her pants. She crouched on the floor next to Stewart and unfolded it, quickly taking all of her items and placing them on the floor beyond him. His eyes widened with panic as he took in the shiv and the full syringe.

“You don’t have to do this. Whatever you’re thinking. . please! Pl—“

Joan interrupted him by shoving the towel into his mouth and stuffing it in as far as it would go. His cries were muffled by the cloth. “Shhh. Your voice has grown wearisome. I’ll speak for both of us. Alright then?” He scowled at her and worked his jaw around the towel. She rewarded his petulance with another slap across his face. “I said alright then, Officer Stewart?”

“Mmmh,” he groaned and nodded.

“That’s a boy,” she said cheerfully and patted his thigh. She collected the syringe, shiv, floss, and stood up. “Now then. There are a few ways this can go down. You can follow directions and walk out of here with nothing more than a bruised ego, or you can be obstreperous and limp out of here with some permanent disability. I recommend you opt for the former choice, although, the latter would be so much more pleasurable for me.” As she spoke she pulled out a length of floss. “Nifty stuff this. Did you know that using dental floss daily helps prevent heart disease? Did you know that Jakey? Did you?” She waited for him to shrug. “Well it’s true. But among it’s many other uses, is it is that it is wonderful for cutting, or more accurately, slicing.” She brought the floss to the man’s neck. He turned purple as a beet as he strained at his restraints and chewed on his gag. “Oh, Jakey,” she chuckled. “Don’t be so silly. I’m not going to slice your throat open with dental floss. But it is an elegant idea, isn’t it? You’d be amazed how creative prison has made me.” She took the floss and tied it snugly around his neck, right under his carotid artery.

Joan stood back up. She didn’t have much time, but she took a few moments to luxuriate in pacing back and forth in front of him, allowing his desperation to grow. As if right on cue, one of the boilers began to loudly purr and hiss and it startled Jake so he jumped and strained against the thin pressure of the dental floss which cut into his skin. Her lips stretched into a smile as she watched him wince in pain and become suddenly and completely still. A tear struggled defiantly down his cheek.

She licked her lips at the sight of the red ring around his neck. Oh how she would have loved to ease up the injury and then tend to it with something cool and corrosive on a cotton ball, like she did all those nights with Jodi Spiteri. Oh how it would itch him as it tried to heal, only to make him scratch and open up the wound over and over. She sighed wistfully. There was no time for that now. Maybe another day. Maybe she and Vera could indulge in some such hedonism together. She relished the idea of Vera holding a cotton ball between her thumb and forefinger. Dab. Dab. Dab. . .

Jake’s muffled whimper brought her back from her fantasy. “Ah,” she bent down and took the towel out of his mouth. “So you understand this is a serious negation?”

“Ye- yes.”

“There are to be no more drugs in my prison, Jake. None. It has been the pride of my career that I’ve ridded both Blackmoor and Wentworth of the foul pestilence of illicit substances. I will not relinquish that honor now.”

“This goes higher than you know.”

“You mean, Derek? Oh. Yes. Well, I have a safe deposit box with a stack of evidence regarding his brothel business. And I also have a very compliant squad of his former harem members right here with me, on my side of the bars. And they are all more than ready, willing, and eager to testify against the depraved acts forced on them by our dear Mr. Channing.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Jake whined.

“You’re a resourceful young man. I expect you will figure it out.” Joan picked up the syringe and held it close to his face. “Do you use drugs, Jake?”

“Never touch the stuff,” Jake hissed.

“Ahh, then I don’t suppose you know the difference between how much it takes to get a person high, and how much it takes to get a person cold and stiff, do you? Do you know that, Jake?”

“No.”

“Just so happens I do,” Joan said. She held up the syringe so the liquid inside caught the light momentarily. “I’ll keep it simple for you, my man of minuscule gray matter. See these little lines scored into the syringe? This one happens to be filled one, two, three, six of those little lines past the point of no return. A hot shot, one would call it on the streets. Injected into your neck, it will take seconds to get to your brain, shut off all the important functions of your major organs, make you shit yourself, vomit, and foam at the mouth as you expire. It’s a nasty way to go.” She lightly ran the needle over his neck.

“So, what are you going to kill me now?”

“No, don’t be foolish. I need you to intervene with Channing. You have work to do, and I need you to have a pulse to do it.” Joan knelt in front of Jake and sighed. “I’m just letting you know that I have access to this. And if you threaten Vera again, I will come for you, Jake. And I will end you. Are we clear?”

“You’re a fucking psycho!” Jake hissed. Joan smiled and jammed one of her knees into his crotch. His immediate response was to fold over in agony, but at the searing pain of the floss around his neck he sprang back up. “Fuck, fuck!” He wept.

“Indeed,” Joan said. “And you fucked with the wrong psycho’s woman. You will not threaten Vera again. You will not even go near her or so much as look at her. Are we clear?”

“Ye- yes,” he whispered.

“Perfect!” She said. She stood up, gathered her things, and started for the door. The time had come to climb out of the canyon, to slake her thirst. 

“Well, aren’t you going to let me free?” Jake asked, his voice high with panic.

“Mmmmh, no. I don’t think so. A little thinking time does a person good.”

Vera was waiting on the other side of the door when Joan exited the boiler room. “Well?” She asked.

“I think Officer Stewart and I have come to a lovely understanding,” Joan said. She artfully removed her gloves, finger by finger. 

“You sound awfully sure of yourself,” Vera said.

Joan practically pounced on Vera as she pushed her up against the wall and kissed her hard. Vera’s arms came around Joan’s waist as Joan forced her mouth open with her tongue. Vera moaned. “I am awfully sure of myself,” Joan whispered. “And I am now feeling like celebrating. Take me to our office, why don’t you?”

“Yes, Governor,” Vera murmured and followed Joan up the steps toward the executive offices of the prison.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. . . I've been having a super hard time lately coping with the surreal reality that is life. It's been super depressing and I haven't been writing much. I've felt really down and hopeless about what's going on for women in the world, and the very strong messages that this country I live in is sending about the worth of women, and our stories, and our truths-- basically that we don't matter. Well, we do matter. We do not owe any one any excuses or explanations and we deserve to be heard and believed. This work came out of a need to metaphorically beat the shit out of "the man" and reclaim some power. Thank fuck for Joan being such a great vehicle for that, and thank goodness from deep heart space for all of the amazing women who read my work and send love and comments. Fic is such a powerful way of connecting and communicating and your comments and kudos and feedback mean so much to me. . . Love and light to all of you... xoxox.


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